THE BILLIONAIRE'S GIRLFRIEND

THIRTY SEVEN

The following days were a blur of police investigations, questions and interviews by the police, and watching the news obsessively.

Two days had passed since her sister's demise. Two days of pure torture and Titan still hadn't made an appearance. It made Malora wonder if Meredith was right that he truly had a hand in this. But, deep down, she knew it was a lie. The woman was skilled in the art of deception and was willing to do anything that would get her results in her favour.

She'd resolved to renting an hotel room for the time being. Being around anything that reminded her of what she'd lost through her association with Titan was enough to send her spiraling, so she'd opted to go with that instead.

Currently, she was sitting on the unmade bed staring at the TV with unseeing eyes. There was nothing she could do but wait. While Malora would have loved to get out of the country and never look back, she still had to bury her sister once her body is released. There was a lot to be done, like finding more answers to the questions Meredith left unanswered and also the whereabouts of her sister after Louis's death.

A sharp knock on the door pushed Malora to her feet. For a few minutes, she stared at the door with wide-eyes, heart pounding. Her encounter with Meredith didn't leave her unbruised, which was why she'd always made sure to lock the door, and check the room before settling. Then came the night terrors of her being killed in place of Lorena. The large bags under her eyes were a testament to her fitful nights.

Another short rap of knuckles against wood came again, but this time, it was accompanied by a feminine voice, "It's me, Mal."

The familiarity of that voice was like  sighting a ship admist a bloody storm wreck. It had Malora propelling forward to the door, hands already unlocking the door before her brain could catch up.

Mikayla stood on the other side of the door, a duffle by her feet, eyes red-rimmed and wet, and unpainted lips trembling with emotion. "Mal," she whispered.

Malora opened her arms and let her friend collapse into them, sobbing. She guided the both of them into the room, and led Mika to the bed while her friend soaked the front of her shirt with snot and tears. As she rubbed soothing hands down Mika's back, Malora murmured soothing words into her greasy hair. She'd cried so much in the last two days that she wasn't sure that she was capable of crying anymore. Her heart hurt alot, but not to the point of suffocating her. Malora was yet to understand why she was like that, but grief does have stages. Perhaps, she was in the acceptance stage already, way past denial.

After her tears was reduced to loud hiccups, Malora detangled herself from Mika and went to get her a bottle of water. She took a seat on the opposite chair when she returned and stared as her friend took three deep gulps before screwing on the bottle cap.

"I'm so sorry," Mika said, wiping a hand across her face and sniffing. "I wasn't able to get a flight yesterday, and had to wait until today."

Malora waved a dismissive hand. "It's okay."

It was okay. She wasn't even ready to hold a grudge for something so minute. She'd called Mika after the police let her leave the police station; that was almost ten in the night. Her friend had been hysterical and inconsolable over the phone, so Malora had to hang up. Mika immediately sent a message that she was coming back to London, so she had to send her the hotel address and room number.

"Are you okay?" Mika eyed her worriedly.

"I'll be fine." Malora leveled her with her own worried look. "Are you?"

"No." Mika shook her head as tears welled up in her eyes again. "I'm so angry and so sad I don't even know what to do with myself." She pursed her lips. "You've lost so much, Mal. So much."